Happenings on the Fourth Floor
by HollyeLeigh
Summary: CS Modern AU: Things are happening on the fourth floor. Loud things. Disturbingly loud things that prompt one of Emma's neighbors to write and post a notice of concern. A notice of concern that Emma 100% blames Killian Jones for.
1. Chapter 1

_**Based on a prompt sent to me by blowmiakisscolin on Tumblr**_

* * *

"This is all your fault!" Emma slammed a piece of paper down on Killian's island, his front door banging shut from where she'd just stormed into his apartment.

"Swan," he greeted, with his usual rapscallion smirk. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Yeah. My pleasure. That's exactly to what you owe!"

Killian's brows twisted together into a confused know. "Come again?"

"No!" Emma exclaimed. "Coming again is what got us into this mess in the first place!"

"What mess, Swan?" Killian questioned, walking towards her with his hands flicked out in inquiry. "You aren't making any sense."

"This. Mess," she clipped while snatching the paper from the counter and slapping it hard against his chest. "Read this."

"Bloody hell, woman," he exclaimed, plucking the paper from her with one hand while rubbing his sore chest with the other. "Quite hostile, aren't we?"

"Just read the damn notice, Jones." She crossed in front of him and made her way over to his fridge, wrenching it open and taking a beer out as he read:

_To the woman screaming every night on the fourth floor…_

_If you are being tortured, call the police. Otherwise I (and the rest of your neighbors) do not need to hear when you're 'coming'. Please be quiet, or I will assume that you are in great pain and will call the police for you._

_Thanks,_

_Fed up residents on the 3rd, 4th AND 5th floors!_

A bottle cap collided with Killian's head, preceding Emma's indignant voice. "Stop laughing! It isn't funny!"

"You're right, love," Killian said in appeasement, before his deep chuckle erupted into a full bodied laugh. "It's bloody fucking hilarious!"

"Ass," Emma muttered, pushing past him and slumping down onto his couch with a huff. "This is all your fault."

"For which, I shall happily take the blame." His eyebrows rose and fell animatedly and his tongue swept a vulgar path along his bottom lip.

"Seriously, Killian," Emma admonished. "This is bad."

"Why?" Killian took his usual place beside her on the couch, and coaxed her to drape her legs over his as she repositioned herself. "People seem to think that this rather _loud _and _wanton _woman lives here on the fourth floor. I believe your flat is on the second, is it not?"

"It doesn't bother you at all that people can hear us?"

"Us?" Killian parroted with a playful tilt of his head and virtuous raise of his brows. "I believe the notice is only addressed to you, love."

"Oh, God." Emma threw her arm over her eyes and groaned loudly.

"I believe _that _is what got us into this mess Swan, not my insistence that you come again… and again… and ag-"

"Yeah. Okay. I get the point!"

"Do you?" he teased salaciously. Reaching over, he took the beer from her hand and set it on the coffee table. "Because it would be my pleasure to hammer the point home for you if need be?" He climbed on top of her, pressing his body into hers so she could feel the _point _he was trying to make.

"I think you got your metaphor a bit off there." Her hands began a tantalizing glide up and down his back, slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to brush over the heated flesh beneath.

"Perhaps," he murmured huskily against her neck. "I know there's something else I'd like to _get off_, though."

"And risk having the cops called on us?"

"There'll be no need for our neighbors to involve the police if you stay quiet." Pulling away from her slightly, he gazed down with a heated and challenging expression. "So tell me, love. Do you think you can stay quiet for me?"

"The real question is," Emma countered back, sitting up suddenly and swapping their positions so he now sat upright with her straddling his lap, "can you?"

Slowly, she slid off him until she was kneeling between his legs. Her hands made quick work of his belt and pant fastenings, freeing his eager erection. Before he could utter a protest - though why on earth would he? - her lips latched onto the sensitive tip of his member, her tongue swirling around its head before inching her mouth down the shaft, causing his head to fall back and his eyes to roll. The hot slide of her mouth, the caress of her hand as she played with his balls and scratched her nails through the thick thatch of hair between his thighs, the way his toes curled when she swallowed him deep into her throat, and the way her eyes flicked up periodically to meet his tested every bit of will he possessed to remain silent under her tempestuous ministrations.

A will that apparently failed him.

… _Two Days Later_

"This is all your fault!" Killian declared, barging into Emma's second floor apartment while waving a piece of paper in front of her face.

"What's all my fault?" she questioned just a little too innocently.

"Allow me to enlighten you," Killian snarked, bringing the paper up with an over dramatic flourish before reading:

_To the man on the fourth floor shouting praises to God Almighty…_

_If you feel the need to glorify God so thoroughly, please do so at a place of worship where the rest of us do not have to listen to your petitions of 'don't stop'. Otherwise, we might think you are calling out to God because you are under demonic attack (was it actually a demon we heard screaming a few days ago announcing they were coming for you?) and call you a priest ourselves._

_Thanks,_

_Your neighbors who are becoming very concerned about the happenings on the fourth floor._


	2. Chapter 2

Their usual haunt was busy tonight, but the table Emma and her friends typically commandeered had still been available when she and Killian had arrived. They sat at opposite ends like they always did, ordered their drinks, and covertly made eyes at each other until the rest of their friends trickled in soon after.

"So, do we have any idea who the Banged Banshee and Wailing Worshiper on the fourth floor are?"

Emma choked on her wine. Sputtering once she finally managed to swallow it down, she cast a quick, panicked look down the table towards Killian. The bastard just continued to casually sip on his rum.

"What?" Emma coughed at Ruby.

"Right," her friend said with a wide wolfish smile. "You live on the second floor, so you probably haven't heard the porn production taking place night after night up our way." She nodded down the table, indicating the rest of their friends who all lived in the same building. Many of them a floor or two above her.

"It's awful," Mary Margaret chimed in. "The first time I heard it, I truly thought someone was being tortured."

"You live on the fourth floor, Jones," Ruby stated, snapping everyone's attention his way. "Any idea who it might be?"

"Why, Lucas…" he purred salaciously. "How do you know it isn't me?"

Emma's heart stopped and her wine nearly came out her nose this time.

"Because you are many things Jones, but a whore is not one of them. If you were gettin' it on the regular like this guy is, it would be because you have a new girlfriend, and since we all know you are currently single…" Her words trailed off and Emma could see her friend's brain working something out. "But you know, come to think of it… the guy does sound like he has an accent." Ruby's eyes widened. "Oh, my God!" Emma braced herself on Killian's behalf for the third degree she was expecting her friend to lay into him. Instead, Ruby spun around and shouted across the pub, "Scarlett the Harlot! You and your new something on the side need to keep it down, for cripe's sake!"

"What are you going on about, Ruby?" Will hollered back from the dart boards in the back where his game had been interrupted.

"The happenings on the fourth floor. It's you, isn't it? Don't try and deny it! Who are you shackin' up with?"

"No one," Will protested. The usual loud hum within the bar had dropped; all of its patrons now invested in the mystery of the provocative sounds permeating the fourth floor.

"Well, then either turn down the volume or remove the voice box of whatever newfangled blow up doll you've got squirreled away in that den of deviance of yours, the rest of us are trying to sleep at night!"

Heat radiated from Emma's face. Thankful as she was that everyone's focus was on Ruby and Will, and not her beet red complexion, she wanted nothing more than for the floor of the bar to open up and swallow her. Killian looked way too pleased with himself as he watched his friend receive the public flogging that should have been theirs. He even had the audacity to order another rum, shooting her a saucy wink as he brought the freshly refilled tumblr to his lips. Emma narrowed her eyes at him. If it didn't mean outing herself as well she'd be tempted to call him out right there just to see the smug smirk wiped off his face by Ruby's relentless mocking.

"Ugh," Ruby huffed, depositing herself into the empty seat next to Emma. "He says it isn't him."

"And you believe him," Mary Margaret asked before taking a large sip of her beer.

"When have you ever known Scarlett to _not _kiss and tell? Or _shag 'n share_, as he likes to say." Ruby impersonation of Will's accent was almost as bad as Emma's was of Killian's whenever she teased him. "Besides, if it were Will, it wouldn't still be some big mystery. He'd have had banners made proclaiming it by now." Ruby rounded in her seat so fast Emma almost choked _again _from flinching, the woman mere inches from her face after leaning in to whisper, "Emma, you have to help me figure out who it is."

"Me? Why me?"

"Um… isn't this kind of thing your job? Going after people and proving they're having affairs? I need your expertise on this."

"There is a bit more to being a private investigator than catching people in the act, Ruby. And I'd rather not bring my job home with me if it's all the same to you," Emma deflected.

"Spend a couple nights in my apartment where you're forced to listen to the erotic moanings and groanings and you'll change your mind."

"Thanks, but I think I'll stick to the second floor."

"You know…" Ruby mused, sitting back into her chair while idly twirling a section of her hair around her finger. "The more I think about it, the more I'm starting to wonder if it isn't some sort of prank."

"What do you mean?" Mary Margaret leaned forward and Emma noted the glassy sheen over her eyes. Seemed it was about time to cut her friend off. She never could hold her alcohol.

"I mean," Ruby replied conspiratorially, "It's all a sham. No one has that much mind blowing sex. Either she's faking it, or they both are, just to mess with the rest of us."

"Why would they do that?"

"I don't know." Ruby shrugged. "Maybe their actual sex is so bad that this is how they get their kicks."

"I highly doubt that," Emma interjected.

"No, actually. I think Ruby has a point," Mary Margaret acknowledged with a slight slur. "No one has that good of sex night after night after night. I think I counted something like," she brought her fingers up, counting along them, "Seven total orgasms between them last night. That isn't possible."

"Sure it is." The words left Emma's mouth before she could stop them, and with a bit of the defensiveness she was feeling from their accusations.

"Oh?" Killian's voice drawled from the other end of the table. Apparently their voices had carried down to where he, David, and now Will all sat. "Speaking from experience, Swan?"

Behind the usual smoldering challenge, Emma could see something else within his eyes.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she quipped back, hoping their typical banter would keep Mary Margaret and Ruby from seriously questioning her words or tone.

"Perhaps I would," Killian said with a salacious smirk. "We could test the probability of Mary Margaret's observations for ourselves. Shall we head back to your place, love? Give the fourth floor a run for their money?"

"The only screaming that will be coming from the second floor is yours, Jones," David remarked with a steely seriousness. "After I shoot you for coming anywhere near my little sister's apartment."

"I can take care of myself," Emma reminded David with a hard gaze of her own, each of them unable to keep up the pretense for long before they broke into affectionate smiles. "Besides," Emma continued, training her eyes back on Killian. "I have my own gun."

"And cuffs," Killian quipped, causing Emma's cheeks to flare from the memory of those cuffs… which were still attached to Killian's headboard.

Emma's phone buzzed against the table, affording her the opportunity to duck her head and hide her reddening face behind her hair as she checked the caller ID.

"Sorry, guys." She stood and held up her phone, then pointed towards the back of the bar. "I've got to step out and take this."

She didn't really, but it gave her an excuse to get some air and collect herself. How much longer would she and Killian be able to keep their relationship a secret from their friends? It wouldn't be long before someone figured out who was behind the _happenings on the fourth floor_. Ruby wasn't going to give up, she was like a dog with a bone when she got an idea into her head, and Emma would only be able to hold off _helping her _for so long.

_We should really get our own place._

Emma startled at the thought, but the panicked induced flight response she expected to overcome her never manifested. Instead, her mind started to wander as it considered a place she and Killian could call home together. A place where they could build a life and future, full of love, laughter… and with thicker walls.

The grating sound of the metal door broke Emma from her reverie and her heart fluttered at the sight of Killian emerging from the doorway.

"Everything alright, love? You've been gone awhile."

"Have I?" She glanced down at her phone, still clutched in her hand. Sure enough, she'd been out here for almost twenty minutes.

"Something about you phone call upset you? You seem vexed." Killian stopped short of her personal space so she could tuck her phone into her back pocket.

"No." she shook her head. "I've just been thinking."

"About Mary Margaret's outstanding counting skills?"

Emma rolled her eyes and groaned. "Oh my God! I cannot believe she kept count! That she heard us well enough to even _keep _count."

"It's impressive, to be sure," he said with a tilt of his head and pensive expression. "I believe I lost count after your third."

A deep chuckle made its way up his throat when Emma smacked him on the arm. "Stop it," she admonished, unable to keep the laugh out of her words even as she stated, "It isn't funny."

"Aye, you said that the other night when you threw that bottle cap at me," Killian took a step and closed the gap between them, placing his hand on the brick wall behind her to brace himself as he loomed over her, "but admit it, Swan. It is fun."

Emma wet her lips and craned her neck up to look him in the face. "I admit nothing."

His eyebrow quirked at her challenging tone, and his other hand came up to rest on her hip, his fingertips lightly brushing against her skin where they made their way beneath the hem of her shirt.

"We'll see about that."

His words sent a ripple down her spine from where they resonated, dark and seductive against her ear. Her breath hitched when he pulled the lobe between his teeth and began toying with it with his tongue while his hand snaked its way up her shirt.

"Killian," she groaned in half protest when his hand began kneading her breast and his lips slipped back to the sensitive area behind her ear. "We can't. Not here."

"What?" he whispered into her ear, his voice that deep and sultry timbre he _knew _made her insides weak. The bastard. "Are you saying with all the talk of our erotic escapades by our friends and neighbors you _haven't _been yearning to feel my hands on you?"

"I don't yearn," she argued, even as she arched into his touch and tried to pull him closer.

"Perhaps not." He gazed down at her. His blue eyes were dark with smoldering desire, but something else burned within them. Something neither of them had said out loud to one another yet. "But I do."

His lips crashed into hers, his kiss needy and insistent as his tongue licked the seam of her mouth then sensuously slid against hers when she complied to its demand. Emma moaned into his mouth when he hitched her leg over his hip, allowing him to grind into her as he squeezed her ass. He was already so hard, his rigid length creating a delicious friction through her jeans with each swivel and thrust of his hips. Gasping, she pulled her lips from his and had to bite back the cries working their way up her throat.

She knew exactly what he was up to, testing her ability to stay quiet as a way of getting back at her for the notice that had been addressed to him.

Well, two could play at that game.

Pushing against his hips to create some space between them, Emma quickly popped the button of his jeans and yanked down his zipper.

"Fuck, Emma," Killian choked back on a stifled cry when her hand reached down beneath his boxer briefs and wrapped around him.

"So hot," she breathed into his ear as she began to stroke him with limited movements from the restriction of his pants. "Like velvet and steel in my hand. Soft and hard and hot, and so eager to be inside me, aren't you?"

"God yes," he groaned, his hips canting into her grip as his breath caught when her thumb skimmed over his tip to collect the bit of arousal pooled there.

"You'll have to be quiet," she instructed seductively. "Wouldn't want the whole bar hearing us, now would we?"

"No." He shuddered when her grip tightened and she changed the position of her wrist, giving her a greater range of motion along his cock. "Emma, please," Killian pleaded. She loved it when he begged.

"Shhh," she whispered in his ear. "You never know when someone might come look-"

The exit door swung open, preceding Mary Margaret's voice. "Emma, are you out here? Everyone's wondering where you are - OH!"

"Mary Margaret!" Emma yelped. "We can explain!"

"No need," the woman said, holding up her hand to stay the forthcoming explanation as she averted her eyes. "I think I understand perfectly."

"No, please. Just hear me out. Killian and I-"

"Emma," Mary Margaret cut her off. "Do you really think there is a way to misconstrue your hand down Killian's pants?"

Both Emma and Killian's eyes fell to where only her wrist was visible through the fly of his jeans. The tips of Killian's ears flamed red and a barely audible whimpering grunt echoed in his throat as Emma drew her hand out. Once more she opened her mouth to try and explain things to her friend, but the woman just shook her head and held up her hand again.

"We're not discussing it," she said. "Just be glad it was me who came looking for you and not Ruby. Otherwise everyone would know who the fourth floor fornicators are by now."

She turned and headed back inside with Emma's long suffering sigh following her.

"We are so screwed."

"What do you mean, love?" Killian asked while refastening his jeans. "I didn't get the impression Mary Margaret intends to say anything. Seems our secret is safe enough."

"And Mary Margaret has been able to keep a secret since when, exactly?"

Killian rolled his eyes and exasperated, "Bloody hell. You're right. The whole bar will know before closing."

Wrenching the door open, Emma stepped inside and muttered under her breath. "We really should just get our own place."

Killian stopped and grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him. "Did you… did you just suggest we move in together?"

"Um… yes?" Emma pulled her lip between her teeth, worrying the tender flesh as she waited for Killian's reaction.

A wide, bright smile spread across his face. "Very well, Swan. I happily accept, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"That we move to a place where the only floors we have to worry about are the ones I plan to ravish you on."

"I prefer a bed Jones, but I agree to your point." She lifted herself up onto her toes to place a quick kiss on his lips, then stated, "And I'll be the one doing the ravishing."

"As you wish, love." Killian took her hand and twined their fingers together before leading them towards the table where their friends were awaiting them. "Shall we come clean with everyone now, in case Mary Margaret really _can't _keep a secret?"

"Nah," Emma replied. "Let them figure it out after we've moved and there's no more _happenings on the fourth floor_."


End file.
